Journal of Sarah Eve, February 1, 1773

I dined at Mr. Clifford's and indeed staid a few days with them, had called to congratulate them on the birth of a daughter. In the afternoon Anna and I went out to look for some Calico for Mrs. Smith, we were to return immediately, but instead of that, we staid and drank Tea with Betsey Guest, — sad girls, sad girls! — but we really could not help it, our cloaks and bonnets were taken off by force, and locked up — but that was from our desire, as we found they were determined to keep us, we begged they would secure them, which they accordingly did; — worse and worse! — worse and worse!

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), p. 24

Journal of Sarah Eve, February 10, 1773

Cloudy and rather warm. Spent the morning very happily. In the afternoon we received a formal invitation from Mrs. Stretch to drink Tea with her at her new house, to which Hannah and myself comply'd with cheerfulness. We stept into Mrs. Parish's for a moment, and then went to Mrs. Stretch's. We were much pleased with our visit & her new house: the neatness and proportions of the furniture corresponding so well with the size of the house, that here one may see elegance in miniature — I don't mean the elegance of a palace, but of simplicity which is preferable — the one pleases the eye but flatters vanity, the other pleases the judgment and cherishes nature. As I walked through this home I could not help saying this surely might be taken for the habitation of Happiness!

Isabel & my brothers came to town for me, & we returned between seven and eight o'clock.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), pp. 24-5

Journal of Sarah Eve, February 15, 1773

A delightful day. We had the pleasure of Mrs. Clifford's company the greater part of the day. Mrs. Stainforth and her two little girls ran over here in the morning without clokes or bonnets, and staid until dinner time. This evening Isabel planted peas, concluding like the Young Man in the Fable, from the exceeding fineness of the day, that summer was come; and as the death of the swallow and coldness of the weather which was so pleasant but the other day, convinced him of his mistake in prematurely selling his cloathes, so I fancy will the rottenness of the peas satisfy her that had they been planted six weeks later, it had been much better. However, as this haste only proceeds from an anxiety of having them before our neighbors, it may be termed an innocent, if not a laudable emulation.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), p. 25

Journal of Sarah Eve, February 21, 1773

The weather to day — but what shall I say of the weather? we have had "very cold," "extremely cold," " excessive cold," and "exceeding cold," as says this Book now, none of these separately is sufficient to convey the idea of the temperature of this day — it needs more than the superlative degree, it would take a super-superlative degree if there is such an one, for it is very extremely excessive cold, in short, they say that it has not been so cold since that winter the ox was frozen on the river. Mr. & Mrs. Smith, George, Betsey & Anna Guest, Anna Clifford & I, dined at Mrs. T. Clifford's.¹ After dinner A. C. and I went home and drank Tea alone, but in the evening the above company spent with us. Dunce! how could it be "the above company" when they are at the bottom of the other side? well Mr. Critic, you know what I mean!

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¹ Thomas Clifford, son of an Englishman, of the same name, was a native of Philadelphia. He married Aunt Guest, of Burlington, the aunt of the Misses Guest (daughters of Jonathan G.) so often mentioned. Mr. Clifford was an eminent merchant before the revolution, and one of those who signed the non-importation agreement. He and his family were members of the Society of Friends, in whose burial ground he was interred in 1793. His wife was buried in the same ground in Nov. 1803. Their children were Thomas Clifford, who married a Miss Dowell, of Bristol, England, and had two daughters. John Clifford, who married Anna Rawle, and had Rebecca, who married John Pemberton. Elizabeth, who married William Smith (the Mr. and Mrs. Smith, of the "Journal"). And Anna (Miss Eve's particular friend), who married in Oct. 1773, Jacob Giles, of Maryland.

Miss Ann Guest died unmarried.— C. R. H.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), pp. 25-6

Journal of Sarah Eve, February 26, 1773

As fine a day as in April. In the morning Dr. Shippen came to see us. What a pity it is that the Doctor is so fond of kissing; he really would be much more agreeable if he were less fond. One hates to be always kissed, especially as it is attended with so many inconveniences; it decomposes the economy of one's hankerchief it disorders one's high Roll, and it ruffles the serenity of one's countenance; in short the Doctor's, or a sociable kiss is many times worse than a formal salute with bowing and curtseying, to "this is Mr. Such-an-one,” and this Miss "What-do-you-call her." 'Tis true this confuses one no little, but one gets the better of that sooner than to readjust one's dress.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), p. 26

Journal of Sarah Eve, December 13, 1772

Sitting before the fire this evening, a thought came over me to write a few lines every night, of what sort of weather we have, whether we go out or not, who comes to see us, and how we spend our time summer and winter. I flatter myself that this will be the last winter that we shall spend here; and I think that from this Journal, altho' unentertaining as it will be, my dear Father may form a pretty just idea of the melancholy winters that we have had since he went away. I wish I had thought of this sooner, or at least on the first of this month, but as that was not the case, think it would be ingratitude not to remark the extreme pleasant weather we have had since the month began. Not a cloudy day, every morning a fine white frost, so that one might say with Belcour,¹ it is so warm that if the calendar did not call it winter, one would be ready to swear it was the opening of spring. This morning I went to the opening of the New Meeting House, heard Mr. Sprout ² preach, the house much crowded — Query, the motive? — Novelty or Religion? In the afternoon, Mama and I drank Tea at Capt. Stainforth's, met a great deal of company there, among the rest Major Edmonson,³ just returned from the Illinois; he appears very clever, we think there is a likeness between the Major & Gov. Denny.

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¹ A character in Cumberland's play of the West Indian.

² The Rev. James Sproat, Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church at Fourth and Arch Streets. Dr. Sproat was b. at Scituate, Mass., April 11, 1721, O. S., d. of yellow fever Philadelphia, Oct. 19, 1793. His church, built in 1750, was long known as the New Meeting House, and it is possible that it is the one spoken of, as it had been repaired shortly before the time of the above entry.

³ Charles Edmonstone, Major 18th or Royal Irish Regiment, 1772; sold out in 1775. Wm. Denny was Governor of Pennsylvania, 1756-1759.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), p. 22

Journal of Sarah Eve, January 5, 1773

A clear day. Dined at Mr. Mitchell's with Mrs. Curry; she excused the Doctor all in her power. I begin to think he is not quite so much to blame as we at first imagined, first he was not so long in town as we heard, then he has had a bad cold, and what he thought much more about, and what we can not be angry with him for, was he had entertained so high an idea of our quality, that the poor Doctor thought his cloathes were not good enough to wait upon us in, therefore he delays his visit until he gets fitted up in the "macaronia"² taste, I suppose.

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² This was the common designation of a beau or dandy at the time Miss Eve wrote, and, as it has crept into some versions of the national song of Yankee Doodle, which read: "He stuck a feather in his hat and called it Macaroni," it may be well to say something of its origin. In Wright's Caricature History of the Georges it is said that in the early part of the reign of George III a club was formed in London by a number of young men, who had made the tour of the continent, and had returned from Italy with all the vices and follies they had picked up there. The club was called "The Macaroni," from the dish which peculiarly distinguished their table and the members soon became distinguished by the title of Macoronis; it was their pride to carry to the utmost excess every description of dissipation, effeminacy of manners, and modish novelty of dress. Everything that was fashionable was a la Macaroni. Even the clergy had their wigs combed, their cloths cut, "their delivery refined a la Macaronis." Macaroni articles abounded everywhere. There was Macaroni music, and there were Macaroni songs set to it. The most popular of these latter was the following: —

THE MACARONI.

 

Ye belles and beaux of London town,

Come listen to my ditty;

The muse in prancing up and down

Has found out something pretty,

With little hat, and hair dress'd high,

And whip to ride a pony ;

If you but take a right survey,

Denotes a Macaroni.

 

Along the street to see them walk,

With tail of monstrous size, sir,

You'll often hear the graver ones talk,

And wish their sons were wiser.

With consequence they strut and grin,

And fool away their money;

Advice they care for not a pin

Ay— that's a Macaroni.

 

With boots, and spurs, and jockey-cap,

And breeches like a sack, O;

Like curs sometimes they'll bite and snap,

And give their whip a smack, O.

When this you see, then think of me,

My name is Merry Crony;

I'll swear the figure that you see

Is called a Macaroni.

 

Five pounds of hair they wear behind,

The ladies to delight, O;

Their senses give unto the wind,

To make themselves a fright, O;

This fashion who does e'er pursue,

I think a simple-tony;

For he's a fool, say what you will,

Who is a Macaroni.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), p. 23-4